I met Fidel Castro twice while I was a reporter with the Toronto Star, one of those rare privileges that a career in journalism affords.

The first occasion was at the Havana airport in 1998, after Castro welcomed then Prime Minister Jean Chrétien on a state visit to Cuba. The second time was when Castro attended Pierre Trudeau’s funeral in Montreal on a grey October day in 2000.

On both occasions, I felt myself to be in the presence of history, at a loss for words. And as both meetings occurred in the days before selfies, I have only my clippings from the Toronto Star as a record of the encounters.

In 1998, Castro was still at the peak of his form and welcomed Chrétien to Cuba with a long, fiery speech during the airport arrival ceremony. When the formalities were over, Castro spontaneously announced to Chretien that he wanted to take him for a walk through a new airport terminal building that was just about to open. As this detour was not on the agenda, the media handlers insisted that journalists weren’t allowed and should head to the hotel.

But I was determined to stay close to Chretien and Castro for as long as possible, to hear what I could of their un-scripted exchange. As the rest of the press corps headed for the media bus, I just stood next to Chretien, then began to move along with him and Castro as they headed for their walking tour.

Within moments, it dawned on me that the security guards were confused. The Canadian security detail must have thought I was Cuban and the Cubans perhaps assumed that with my dark suit and short haircut, I was one of the Mounties protecting Chretien. So both sides let me tag along.

That’s how I ended up alone for nearly half an hour with Castro, Chrétien and Aline Chrétien. With Mrs. Chrétien translating (she spoke Spanish), the wily old Cuban leader tried to engage Chrétien in political chatter, but recognizing me as a member of the press corps, Chrétien was having none of it, and kept trying to change the subject.

“Mr. President, I’ve noticed that the colour red is used a lot here,’’ Chrétien said at one point, gesturing to the rows of new seats in the terminal building. “It’s the colour of my political party,’’ he said. Castro replied: “Yes, after your visit here you will be accused of being a Communist.”

Indeed, in some quarters, he probably was. But like me, Chrétien clearly had a grudging respect for Castro, the political survivor, the nemesis of generations of American presidents and a legendary figure in much of the developing world.

The next time I saw the Cuban leader it was in early October of 2000, when Canadians were mourning the passing of Pierre Trudeau and I was among a half dozen Star reporters assigned to cover the state funeral.

On the evening of Oct. 3, when Trudeau’s body was lying in state in Montreal’s old city hall on the eve of the funeral, Castro was among the mourners who lined up to walk past the casket and his arrival caused a buzz.

The next day, my assignment for The Star was to write about the dignitaries and world leaders who attended Trudeau’s funeral. From my vantage point on the steps of Notre Dame, I could see Castro towering above most others in the crowd, as he walked along beside former U.S. President Jimmy Carter in his first ever meeting with someone who had held the office of U.S. President.

In my story for The Star, I reported that Castro, “by his very presence turned Pierre Trudeau’s funeral into a rare international event.’’

To the disappointment of the media throng on the church steps, Castro refused to speak on his way into the church, instead shushing us by putting his finger up to his mouth. After the funeral, during which he served as an honorary pall bearer, Castro went straight to a limousine. I knew that he would be headed across old Montreal to the hotel where the reception was being held after the funeral. And with security clogging traffic, I made a snap decision that I could probably run the six or seven blocks to the hotel faster than Castro’s limo could get there.

I was right and arrived at the hotel’s back entrance – huffing and puffing – just as the Cuban leader’s limousine pulled up. When Castro emerged, I blocked his path with my arm, thrust out my tape recorder and asked him for his reaction to the funeral service.

He paused, just for a moment, and said something in Spanish, the only part of which I could grasp was “simplemente maravilloso.” Later I called my wife Roula, who speaks Spanish, and played her the quote so that she could translate.

“I was very moved by the ceremony, it was simply marvellous,’’ Castro had said, before entering the hotel to give his condolences to the Trudeau family.

I would guess that now, all these years later, the Trudeau family will be returning the favour.